


The Husband

by Iben



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 17:55:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6161694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iben/pseuds/Iben
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have both survived the war and now life, their life, is supposed to begin. Only, seven years apart is a long time and Arthur doesn't know how to do this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Come down to the coast, Mal had written in one of her letters. Dom had sent his regards too, as he usually did, sometimes even in his own handwriting. We've rented a house with plenty of room, Mal's letter had said. Some sun and time off is probably what you both need now and you deserve it.

Arthur mentioned the invitation to Eames, he said sure, and now they were on this train, chugging along the track intersecting wide open fields and thick forests. The sunlight trickled through the foliage and when Arthur closed his eyes a red light seemed to flicker on and off, on and off.

It made him feel uneasy so he opened his eyes again. Eames was sitting opposite him, staring out the window and seemingly lost in thought. Arthur grabbed the opportunity to look at him, surreptitiously. He looked older than the images Arthur had of him in his head, scruffier, although his hair was shorter. Seven years was a long time. Eames was pushing thirty, Arthur just a couple of years behind him; when they met they had only just stumbled past the milestone of not being teenagers anymore.

They were barely more than kids. That's what it felt like now, as he looked at this man who was his husband but could just as well have been a complete stranger. Arthur's very first impression of him, all those years ago, was that he was annoying, too handsome and too cocky for his own good, and then that he was _hot_. From there they moved on quickly to an intense love affair, and a spur of the moment marriage, but only got to spend a few months together before they were swiftly shipped off to different parts of the world. 

A tunnel abruptly cut off the view and left the window a black square. Eames turned his gaze away from his own face, suddenly reflected back at him, and maybe because he could no longer pretend to be immersed in the landscape he looked at Arthur. Arthur smiled a little and got a smile back. 

Love him, Arthur wanted to say to himself. You married him, so just love him. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't conjure up those feelings. He was happy and relieved that Eames was unharmed, that he had returned from the war with nothing but a crooked little finger on his right hand as a visible injury. He was happy and relieved that he himself was unharmed. Things were good, life could begin now, it was supposed to.

The door to the carriage opened then and the catering cart was pushed through, a lady in a neat blue uniform following behind it. 

“You want coffee?” Eames asked. 

“Yeah.” Arthur straightened a little in his seat. He watched the hostess smile and serve an elderly couple sitting diagonally across the aisle. Then she rolled her cart up to them.

“Two coffees, please,” Eames said, returning her smile and paying for their coffees.

Arthur accepted his cup black, since Eames didn't remember he wanted a splash of milk in it. He'd drunk his coffee black for a week, because he didn't want to embarrass Eames. It wasn't important, it was a totally insignificant detail. He wasn't even hurt that Eames didn't remember, so he couldn't say why he didn't just tell him. 

“I think I forgot to pack swimming trunks,” Eames said when the lady with the cart had moved on. “I'm actually not sure if I even own any.”

“It's a holiday resort,” Arthur said. “I'm sure there are places where you can buy a pair.”

When the train pulled into the station they retrieved their bags from the luggage compartment and as they stepped onto the platform they were met by air smelling of sea salt and the distant cries of seagulls. Despite being early in the season, many of the other passengers were also getting off here, jostling and toting more luggage than they could easily manage. The war is over, let's go to the beach! 

The small station was not built for such dense traffic and Arthur and Eames were held up by a steady stream of a seemingly never ending family, before they could cut through the throng of people.

Dom and Mal were waiting by the parking lot, standing side by side and smiling. Mal looked as lovely as ever in a pale summer dress and Dom looked relaxed too, wearing a short-sleeve shirt. He'd gotten a little soft around the middle, Arthur noticed, but he looked good, tanned, and his hair bleached a lighter shade by the sun. 

“Oh, Arthur!” Mal exclaimed when he got close enough, got up on tiptoes and put her arms around him.

She hugged him long, tight, and he was somehow surprised by her softness, as if he had forgotten that a person could feel like that. It felt nice. Then he got a hug from Dom, a more back-slapping, manly hug. 

“Good to see you, little brother,” Dom said, smiling and nodding, and that held all the emotion Dom was capable of expressing. That was enough, more would only have made Arthur embarrassed anyway. 

Mal hugged Eames too, just as long and tight it seemed, even though she'd only met him on a couple of occasions, many years ago now. Dom settled for shaking his hand. 

They put the bags in the trunk of the car and then Arthur and Eames got into the backseat. Mal got in behind the wheel. The town was small, the streets lined with neat rows of antique shops and restaurants. People walked slowly, gazing in windows and looking through postcard stands. It almost didn't look real.

That's what he and Eames had talked about, mostly, since they both got back home. They had marveled at all the ordinary things that seemed extraordinary after years of a very different kind of everyday life. It was something that occupied both of their thoughts, certainly, but it was also a safe topic of conversation, something they knew they had in common. Arthur knew this because he'd spent a lot of the time waiting on planes and trains that would take him back home talking about the exact same things with other people. 

A lot of them had been far worse off than he had been, though. He'd spent most of his time in a bunker, sorting through and analyzing information, sending other people away to deal with the realities outside of that bunker. People like Eames. Neither one of them were allowed to talk about the things they'd done, but Arthur had worked out that much.

“I'd love to try that restaurant,” Mal said and pointed. “We can have dinner there, tomorrow maybe. Not today. I've prepared for dinner at home. Home-cooked food.”

She turned around and smiled at the two of them in the backseat. 

“I'm so happy you are here,” she said. 

Arthur smiled back. 

“Eyes on the road, honey,” Dom said. 

On the edge of town were a number of houses, the area balancing somewhere in between being a residential area and the beginning of the countryside. Most of the houses were large, two or three stories, some bungalows, surrounded by crooked wooden fences and windswept gardens. 

“It's so beautiful here,” Mal said. “I think you're going to love it. It is slow-paced, but I don't think it's boring. There is a really great second hand book store. I've thought about you, Arthur, every time I've been there. I think it's really your kind of place. Do you like to read as well, Eames?”

“Yes, to a degree.”

“Hon, watch the road.”

Mal and Dom's house was a little apart, with no immediate neighbors and situated close to the beach. It looked to be a bit worn, but still perfectly comfortable. A set of wooden stairs led up to a porch encircling the whole house. Inside it was spacious and held an assorted collection of colorful furniture and decorative objects, giving it an air of what might best be described as boheme chic.

“Have you bought it, or are you renting?” Eames asked.

“Renting,” Dom replied. “We've thought of buying, but figured we'd give it a try first, see how we like the area. The prices here are what they are, they don't change much, so it won't matter if we wait.”

Eames nodded. Dom made a pretty good living from his writing, interspersed with teaching at some college or other now and then. They wanted to have him, so it was his own choice whenever he didn't. 

Eames came from money. Substantial, proper money. Arthur hadn't really understood that, until he suddenly got a letter from a lawyer, declaring that if Eames were to die in the line of duty, his family would dispute Arthur inheriting. Arthur didn't know what to do. He couldn't talk to Eames about it, because Eames was somewhere across the globe and it didn't seem right to put it in a letter. 

He ended up asking a friend, who was a few courses shy of a law degree. His friend asked him in return if it was important to him that he'd inherit. He said no, he didn't even know that Eames had any money. Truth was that Eames had appeared to be pretty much broke when they met. Then what's the problem? his friend said. Maybe he won't even die and if he does, you can deal with it then. End of discussion. 

“Are you hungry?” Mal asked. “Dinner will be a little while, I can make us some sandwiches?”

“That sounds great,” Arthur replied.

“Okay. I'll just show you your room first. Dom can start making sandwiches.”

Upstairs were three bedrooms and a small study. 

“I put you in this room,” Mal said, “because it overlooks the sea. If you'd rather want the other one, because it has its own bathroom, it's no problem.”

“No, this is fine,” Eames said. He shot Arthur a sort of questioning glance and Arthur nodded.

“Yeah, this is great.”

Eames smiled at Mal. “This is lovely.”

She beamed back. “Okay. Great. You can unpack and then just come down when you're ready. I'll go oversee the sandwiches.”

Arthur put his bag down on the floor and walked over to the window. He could see a patch of windswept grass and a little further away white sand. Beyond it the blue-green mass of water. Soft ripples on the surface. 

“Are you going to change?” Eames asked. 

“Yes. No.” Arthur had planned to, but it didn't seem necessary when his brother and sister in law were in such casual attire. Although it might feel good to wash off the dust of the journey. “Are you?”

“Nah.”

“I'm just gonna hang some of my clothes.”

Eames took a seat at the edge of the bed while Arthur opened his bag. There was a large wardrobe, empty, save from a number of hangers and a couple of blankets on the bottom shelf. 

“You don't really need to hang your shorts, though?” Eames said suddenly.

Arthur turned around to find him smiling. 

“Why not? I ironed them before I packed them.” 

“Okay.” Eames was still smiling and Arthur smiled back, because he didn't mind being teased so much, not when Eames' smile looked genuine and they were talking about something, anything other than polite small talk. 

“Okay, I'm done.”

The kitchen had a large dining table positioned by big windows overlooking the beach. The patio door was open, letting in a warm breeze. 

“To celebrate that both of you are safely home...” Dom said and handed them a tall glass each. 

“To us, all of us,” Mal said, raising her own glass.

The content of her glass was a different color. Arthur saw it, and Mal saw that he saw. A smile spread across her face and she exchanged a glance with Dom. 

“We weren't going to say anything yet,” she said. “But...” She laughed. “We're having a little one.”

Arthur smiled. His face hurt with the effort. 

Eames collected himself faster than Arthur, or maybe it wasn't an effort on his part. 

“Congratulations,” he says. “That's wonderful news.”

“Yeah, congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

Mal smiled and Dom smiled. They looked happy, a little flustered perhaps by the announcement. Arthur wanted to be happy too. He was happy. It's just that he felt something crumple inside too. He didn't want kids, or he didn't know if he did or not, but Mal and Dom were well away on their journey, they had each other and now they were going to be parents, while he was rooted to the exact same spot. 

They clinked their glasses and Arthur wanted to down the champagne in one go, but he didn't. He tried not to resent Dom for being able to create a life for himself, with his wife, while Arthur didn't even get a fucking chance, but it was difficult not to. He was going to do it now, he thought to himself. He didn't know how, but they were here now, on a holiday, it would be good for them. 

They had some sandwiches and then Mal suggested they'd go down to the beach, just to have a look at it. It was wide and long enough to not get crowded. It was windy today as well, a steady stream of salty air blowing in from the sea, rippling their clothes. Arthur got sand in his shoes.

They talked as they strolled along the water's edge. Arthur couldn't remember later about what, but he remembered thinking about whether or not he should take Eames' hand. He debated with himself for so long that he lost his opportunity; Eames put his hands in his pockets and ruined it. 

Arthur wondered to himself how he had managed to get anything done ever, romantically speaking. Truth was that thinking back now, he couldn't really grasp that he'd gotten married after only a few weeks of knowing someone. It wasn't like him. He completely lost his head, and it was wonderful. A once in a lifetime thing, the kind of thing that people write novels about.

But that was then. 

After dinner that evening they remained at the table, had some more wine, all except Mal, and talked some more. When it started getting late they headed upstairs, to their respective rooms. 

Eames had a collection of tattoos when Arthur met him, now the collection had grown and covered most of his upper arms and there were designs on his back and chest as well. Arthur could see his own name there in a couple of places. Eames had surprised him with the first one and then Arthur was with him when he got the second one. 

Maybe he should have been relieved that he wasn't met by someone else's name now, etched somewhere onto Eames' skin. Eames had gotten broader across the shoulders, corded muscles visible beneath the skin. Without his clothes he looked like a soldier. Arthur had noticed this because he had looked, out of the corner of his eye. He also wondered if Eames despised him now, if he scoffed at Arthur's still lanky body and thought him weak, or worse, a coward.

Arthur kept his underwear on as he got into bed and Eames did too, either following Arthur's lead on this matter or maybe he too felt more comfortable that way. The bedside lamps were still on and the room was quiet. Why wasn't there an instruction manual for these sort of things? Arthur would have loved one. A step by step guide. 

They had shared a hug, at the train station where Arthur managed to be, having gotten word only the day before that Eames was going to be on that particular train. It didn't feel natural, but it didn't feel bad either. Then practical details followed, things that could occupy them, and then Mal's invitation came in the mail. 

Arthur glanced at Eames. 

“Are you alright?” he asked. 

Eames nodded. He might as well have been on the other side of the planet still. That's what it felt like. 

“I know Mal can be a bit intense,” Arthur said. 

“No, I like her.”

Eames smiled a little and Arthur smiled back. 

“Well, good night, then,” Arthur said then.

“Good night.”


	2. Chapter 2

When Arthur woke up the next morning he was alone in bed. For half a second he felt relief and then he scolded himself for it. Since no one was there to see him, he scooted over to Eames' half of the bed and put his head on his pillow. He stared up at the ceiling. The silence pressed against his ears. 

He got up. Eames' clothes from yesterday were on the floor. Arthur took a shower, then got dressed and headed downstairs. Mal was flurrying about in a dressing robe, but Dom was dressed and sitting by the kitchen table, the morning paper open in front of him. 

“Where's Eames?” Arthur asked.

“He went out,” Mal replied. “He said he had some errands to run.”

Through the window Arthur could see the car, parked haphazardly by Mal yesterday. 

“He didn't take the car?”

“No, I said he could, but he said he'd rather walk. It's not very far to town from here. I need to get dressed.”

Arthur poured himself a cup of coffee and went to sit down by the table. Dom glanced up from the paper and looked as if he was going to say something, but then he just smiled a little. After a moment's silence he finally cleared his throat.

“You guys alright?” he said. 

Arthur nodded. It was an automatic response. They were fine, both of them. They were together again, finally. Oh, the joy. 

Then he thought, this was his big brother. If he couldn't admit, even to him, how paralyzed and lost he felt, then there was something wrong with him. Dom was married, Arthur should ask his advice.

“It's just... difficult,” Arthur said. 

Dom nodded, frowning a little. 

“I don't really know what to do...” Arthur said.

“It's bound to take some time, getting used to civilian life again.”

“It's not just that. It's like... I don't even know him!”

“Oh, um... Give it some time. I'm sure... things will work themselves out.”

Dom put his hand on Arthur's shoulder and squeezed it a little, encouragingly, brotherly, inadequately. 

I don't know how to talk to him, we haven't even kissed, and I'm supposed to love him, but I don't. Arthur didn't say any of those things, but just nodded. Dom patted his shoulder before letting go. 

**

It very quickly became obvious to Arthur that this holiday was a mistake. They spent lazy days on the beach, went for strolls through town and had lunch at restaurants, they had a couple of drinks and played board games in the evenings, and all the while Arthur felt panicky. He felt like he was drowning. None of it felt real. 

Mal and Dom were so happy. They were two halves of a one, the epitome of marital bliss, and they set a standard that Arthur felt was far too high. He got as far as holding Eames' hand, when they were out for a walk. Eames' hand felt big, warm, and it was nice, but Arthur felt as if he was acting in a play. 

When the sun set at night it got dark. In the distance the lights from the town glittered and the moon cast a shattered reflection on the surface of the ocean. Arthur leaned against the banister on the porch. Was he supposed to feel this empty? 

During their first time apart Eames had written such beautiful letters. Maybe not beautiful as such, but they were long, a stream of consciousness, where he professed his love for Arthur and whatever else that came into his mind. He told him how he missed him, he missed his dimples and his eyes and his ass, the letters were very cheeky in places. Arthur struggled to respond in kind. He felt the same way, but he had difficulties putting it into words. 

Then the letters got shorter. Fewer and more far between. They never fully stopped writing to each other, but all Arthur ever did was work, which he couldn't write about, and he figured Eames was in a similar situation. Truth was, though, that Arthur didn't miss him anymore. Sometimes he didn't even think about him. 

He startled when there was movement behind him. It was Mal, stepping out through the patio door.

“Oh Arthur, how unhappy you are,” she said as she leaned her elbows against the banister next to him.

His first instinct was to protest, but then he didn't see the point. She knew him well. They'd written to each other during the war and every time Arthur had some leave, she and Dom came to see him, traveling a long way even for just a few hours visit. 

“I don't know what I'm doing.”

“None of us do, you mustn't aim so high.”

Arthur smiled, but it turned into a grimace, which then turned into a half-choked sob. He did his best to compose himself. 

“I think maybe it was wrong of us to ask you to come here,” she said. “I wanted to see you, I was selfish. But you haven't landed yet.”

“It's not that, it's... I try, but I don't know how. He's a complete stranger, Mal.”

“Have you thought about then, that you are probably a complete stranger to him too?”

Mal put her small hand on his arm.

“Don't try so hard,” she said. “I think often in life you are much better off walking around like a big klutz, like Dom.”

Arthur smiled, despite himself. 

“But he is very sensitive, really,” Mal said. “And you are very sensitive. And that's okay, that's why we've become such great friends, I think.”

“I'm a poof, you mean.”

“No, what I mean is that you have to allow yourself to be sensitive.”

Arthur glanced at her. 

“In seven years, how many times did you see each other?” she asked.

“Three.”

She nodded a little. Arthur lined them up in his head. The first time they were almost a little shy at first, but then they smiled and kissed and hugged, and squeezed into a tiny bathroom to jerk each other off. It was painful to part again. The second time Arthur had gotten a room at a railroad hotel in a tiny town, he'd spent most of his leave traveling there. They had one night, before Arthur had to make the journey back again, and they spent it half asleep, spooning on the bed in that shabby little room. Eames was exhausted, but he held on so tight to Arthur that it felt good to see him anyway, even if they didn't talk much or do anything. 

The third time Eames was late. Arthur didn't know if it was by design, or because of something that lay beyond his control. But he sat at that cafe, thinking Eames wouldn't come at all and it was both a disappointment and a relief. In the end he did show up and they sat opposite each other by the table, not knowing what to say. Eames was very handsome in his uniform, but Arthur felt confused more than anything else. 

A couple of Eames' buddies, also in uniform, had walked by and wolf-whistled at them.

“Are they giving you a hard time?” Arthur had asked.

“Nah.”

Eames had grabbed his hand across the table then, as if to prove that he wasn't trying to hide anything. 

“I'm being transferred,” he had said.

“Where to?”

Eames had given him a look and Arthur had just shook his head at himself, belatedly remembering that it was no point in asking. 

“I probably won't be able to write as much,” Eames had said. 

“Okay. I understand.”

They had kissed and then Eames had to go. No I love you's, or tearful goodbyes. 

“You have to give yourself some time,” Mal said and patted his arm, “to find your way back to each other.”

Arthur didn't voice his deepest fear, which was that there was nothing to find their way back to. That they'd either have to live like this, or bear the shame of a divorce. Arthur didn't have much family to condemn him, just Dom and Mal, but Eames did. And Arthur didn't like the idea of not even being thirty and already divorced. No matter where he went, people would wonder, whisper behind his back. Being gay was bad enough.

“I'm going to bed,” he said. 

“Okay. See you in the morning.”

Arthur went back inside and up the stairs. The light was on in Dom's study, visible in the crack under the door, and Arthur could hear the tap, tap, tap of the typewriter. 

Eames was in bed, but the bedside lamp was on and he had propped himself up with some pillows, a paperback in one hand. Arthur's gaze went to the windows, which were wide open. Eames had heard every word he said to Mal. 

Arthur felt something sink inside, like a lead. He kicked off his shoes. Eames was looking at him and Arthur felt the pressure to say something, but he couldn't think of anything, and it was Eames who ended up speaking.

“Do you want to go home?” he asked.

Arthur couldn't read his expression. Home or here, Arthur wasn't sure it made a difference. They'd been at home, in the apartment that had been Arthur's before it was both of theirs, and it had felt just as strange and stilted. It didn't feel like home either, for that matter. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed. “I don't know. Do you wanna go home?”

“I asked you first.”

“And I said I don't know.”

Eames sighed. “As much as I like Mal and Dom, they're your family. We came here so that you could see them.”

Arthur nodded, staring at the bed sheet. It was quiet for a moment. 

“Are you angry with me?” Arthur asked then. 

“Why would I be angry with you?”

Eames put his book aside and leaned forward. Arthur could see him in his peripheral vision, his arms and his shoulders, the dark tattoos against his skin. 

“Because I was safe. For the most part during the war, I was safe. I thought, maybe you'd resent me for that.”

“No. Look, I'm trying too. It's a fucking unprecedented situation, isn't it?”

“I'm sorry you heard...”

“Don't be sorry. I know you don't fucking want me, Arthur.”

“I never said that...”

“It's perfectly alright, because I'm not in love with you either.”

It went quiet. Quiet enough for the soft lapping of waves to be heard, and the faint tapping of Dom's typewriter. 

“Glad we straightened that out,” Arthur said and got up. He started unbuttoning his shirt, not looking at Eames. 

“At least we're being honest.”

“Yeah.”

Arthur put his watch on the bedside table and pulled off his shirt. In reality he'd had a marriage that lasted a few months, after that it was over. For the years that followed, it was just a piece of paper. 

He got into bed and kept his back to Eames. 

“That's it?” Eames said behind him. 

Arthur didn't reply. He could see the years stretching out in front of him and it made him feel trapped. 

He lay there and after a while he began to feel guilty. Eventually he turned around. Eames was still sitting up. 

“Maybe... that we're arguing is a good thing,” Arthur said.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Arthur could see Eames' hand, with the wedding band gleaming on his ring finger, and he took it. After a few seconds Eames wrapped his fingers around his.

“Maybe it's like Mal said,” Arthur said. “It'll just take some time.”

Eames nodded. 

“Let's get out of here,” he said. “We don't have to go home, we can just... go someplace else.”

“Okay.”

Eames lay down and used his free hand to push the pillow in under his head. They were together in this, Arthur reminded himself. Holding hands like two little schoolboys, they looked at each other. 

“We could rent a car,” Arthur said. 

“Sounds good.”

“Do you want to go and see you family?”

“It can wait.”

Eames rubbed his thumb over the back of Arthur's hand. Arthur had thought that coming home would be easier, the burdens of peacetime a lot less straining than war, but it was almost the opposite. He knew what he was doing then, now he had no idea. 

He said that to Eames.

“I know,” Eames said. “And I'm sure someone, somewhere, has had something terribly wise to say about it.” 

“I think Dom might be writing a novel about it.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, he keeps going into his study...”

“You're sure he's not just jerking off in there?”

Eames smiled and Arthur smiled back. 

“Well, maybe he is, but most likely it's figuratively speaking. No, I think he's writing about us, or some version of it.”

Eames made a skeptical face. “But we haven't given him anything to write about.” 

Arthur knew his brother, though. He was sure there was going to be some former soldier in his next book. Possibly a gay one. Dom had pissed off plenty of people by doing that, but he didn't care. It was for his art. 

“We should give him something to write about,” Eames said. 

He bounced a little, as if to test the bed, and sure enough it squeaked to his satisfaction. 

“No, no...” Arthur said, but Eames didn't pay any heed to his protest.

He bounced some more and the bed squeaked obscenely. Arthur couldn't help but to laugh, despite feeling somewhat mortified. He'd forgotten Eames did these sort of things. Eames was still holding his hand and the whole mattress was bouncing with Eames' weight and Arthur bounced with it. 

Then Eames moaned, loudly and hoarsely, horribly exaggerated, although that didn't stop something from running down Arthur's spine. Eames stopped his assault on the bed after that and smiled a wide smile, showing his crooked teeth. 

“You're insane,” Arthur said, although he couldn't remember the last time he laughed, and certainly not like that. It was a good feeling. 

It didn't feel so strange to kiss after that. A gentle, closed lips kiss, a little uncertain. A bit formal perhaps. 

“Wanna try that again?”

“Yeah.”

They kissed again. Eames full lips were soft and warm, his stubble scratchy. They were still holding hands, it felt sweet. Arthur felt unaccustomed to the closeness, the intimacy of Eames mouth against his. 

“We can head up the coast,” Eames said. “Just take things as they come?”

Arthur nodded. “Yeah.”


	3. Chapter 3

The morning sun was shining from a clear-blue sky, flooding the kitchen with light. Mal poured herself some juice, smiling. 

“Toast?” Dom held out the breadbasket to Eames.

“Thank you.”

They had to know it was fake, right? No one could actually believe that's what they sounded like in bed. Arthur could barely remember what they sounded like in bed, but he was pretty certain that was not it. 

There was nothing he could do about it now either way, he had to let them believe whatever they believed. 

“We're gonna head off today,” Arthur said after he had helped himself to some breakfast.

Why did he feel as if he was making some grand declaration? 

“Head up the coast, probably,” he said. He glanced at Eames who smiled at him. 

“That sounds lovely,” Mal said. “We'll be sorry to see you go, of course, but you can always come back. Whenever you feel like it.”

“Are you gonna watch the motor rally then?” Dom said.

“The... what?”

“The motor rally. It's just a little north of here, next week.”

“Probably not.”

“Oh. I can really recommend it, though.”

“I can't even tell if you're joking or not.”

“He's not joking,” Mal said. “That's the sad truth of it.”

“Okay, now I feel attacked,” Dom said. “It really is a lot of fun to watch.”

He smiled and looked around the table. 

“It's a bit too macho for us poofs, you know,” Eames said, making an apologetic face.

Dom laughed. “That's the stupidest thing I've heard.”

Eames grinned. 

Conveniently, there was a car rental service in town. It was overpriced, but they paid anyway, and the car they got was a brand new convertible so that partially made up for it. 

Back at Dom and Mal's house they carried their bags out to the car. Arthur felt a little bit like a five-year-old, going on an adventure. It was a pretty good feeling, though, despite the lack of control that came with it. 

Dom pulled him to the side just as he was going to head back out to where Eames and Mal stood by the car. The top was down, Arthur noticed.

“I hope things work out now, you know, for the two of you,” Dom said, a slightly flustered look on his face. 

It made Arthur embarrassed too. 

“Yeah. Thanks.” 

“I just wanted to ask you, was he in like, special-ops, or something like that?”

The question caught Arthur off-guard. And at the same time it didn't.

“I don't know,” he said. 

He did know, though. He never met any of them, he just saw their files, but he knew what kind of guys they were and he just knew that Eames had been one of them.

“But some kind of special force, though?” Dom said. For an idiot he was remarkably observant sometimes. It was probably what made him such a good writer.

“I don't know and even if I did, I couldn't tell you, you know that. And don't write about him!”

“I'm not writing about him.”

“I know you are. Just don't. And don't write about me either.”

“I'm not!”

He was lying. Arthur could practically hear the tap, tap, tap of the typewriter, even now. 

“This is why everyone thinks you're annoying,” Arthur said. 

“Everyone doesn't think I'm annoying.”

Jesus Christ. 

Arthur went outside and Dom followed behind. Mal shaded her eyes with her hand.

“I hope you'll have a wonderful trip,” she said. 

She gave Arthur a hug, then Eames. Dom patted Arthur's back and shook hands with Eames. 

“I'm very pleased that our baby will have such handsome uncles,” Mal said. “It bodes well, I think.”

“For what?” Dom said. 

“You wanna drive?” Eames asked, looking at Arthur and squinting a little against the sun. 

“No, you go ahead.”

“Alright.”

Arthur waved at Dom and Mal when they drove off, feeling slightly silly in the open car, but once they were out on the road the feeling that he was pretending to be cooler than he was faded. Eames drove fast and sure. 

“Did you buy a map?” he asked.

“Yeah.” Arthur opened the glove compartment and took it out. The wind made it difficult to unfold it, though. “Can you slow down? We don't even know where we're going yet.”

Eames slowed down and then he stopped the car completely. 

“You didn't have to stop.”

“I wanna look at the map.”

To their right was a field that perhaps held cattle at times, but at the moment it was empty. Beyond that Arthur could see the glittering ripples of the ocean. 

“This is where we are now,” Eames said and pointed.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. We could head there, it looks like it's a small town.” Arthur pointed at another spot. 

“Yeah, sure.”

It felt weird, just driving someplace random like that. But then again, wasn't that exactly what Arthur had done, in a manner of speaking, when he first met Eames? He just went with him, head over heels, body and soul, without even thinking. Maybe that was the point of this; he had to do that again. The symmetry of it felt reassuring. 

They stopped for a late lunch at a small hotel. The owner was a little lady with an old-fashioned hairdo that might have been a wig. As they ate it started raining and they had to run out to the car and get the top up, and then finish their lunch soaking wet. 

“We could stay here,” Eames said, looking out the window at the downpour. 

“Yeah... What are we gonna do here?”

Arthur mentally scolded himself the second he had said it. He had paved the way for some lewd joke, or at least an innuendo, and he didn't feel entirely comfortable with that, but Eames didn't pick up on it.

“Get dry,” Eames said. “This food is really great, too.”

It was. 

“Or we could go on,” Eames said. “If you'd rather do that.”

“No, we can stay here. We'll have to see if she has any available rooms.”

The owner showed up only moments later, to serve them coffee.

“Are there any rooms available?” Arthur asked. 

She looked up from the coffee pot and glanced at the two of them.

“Well... yes,” she said. “One or two?”

“One,” Arthur said and he could feel his spine stiffen. 

“We're married, if that helps,” Eames said. 

“It isn't any of my business. I only care that my guests are orderly people, and you look like respectable young men.”

The room was tiny, but had a double bed squeezed in there, leaving hardly any floor at all. They both changed into dry clothes. It was still pouring down, the rain pattered steadily against the roof and the windows. 

“So much for our great escape,” Eames said. 

“It's only a bit of rain.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon doing nothing in particular. There were no other furniture in the room but the bed, a rickety chair and a chest of drawers, so they both went to lie down on the bed. Arthur read for a bit and Eames did the crossword puzzle in the paper, which he had bought downstairs. Arthur found it hard to concentrate on his book. He could hear the scratching noise of Eames' pencil and he felt aware of his presence, the same way he had ever since he got back. 

This was good, though. This was normal. He was just unused to it. They were trying, both of them. 

“What are you reading?” Eames asked after a while. 

Arthur showed him the cover of the book. 

“Oh, wow. I'm not smart enough for that kind of stuff.”

Arthur smiled. “Sure you are.”

“No, no.” Eames shook his head. 

“You've finished the crossword puzzle,” Arthur said, glancing at the paper. “I'd say you're plenty smart.”

“Now you're just sucking up.”

Arthur smiled. 

“You didn't read books like that before, though, did you?” Eames said. “You had all these pulp fiction books...”

Arthur had forgotten about those.

“Yeah. I guess I just got tired of them,” he said. “They made us read all these classics in school, and after that I wasn't interested, but... I don't know. I think I discovered that reading them voluntarily is a lot more fun.”

He turned his head to look at Eames. 

“What do you like to read?” he asked. It felt weird to ask, but he had to if he wanted to know.

“I'm still on the pulp fiction.” Eames smiled. 

Arthur moved closer, a lot less smoothly than he had hoped for, but Eames leaned forward to meet him when he got close enough. 

They both jumped when there was a knock on the door. 

“Dinner is served,” came a voice from the hallway. 

“The service here is amazing,” Eames said as they got up. 

Arthur smiled. “I didn't think anyone was supposed to be able to sneak up on you like that,” he said. 

“Ah, well... you know, I was distracted.” 

The kissing didn't feel entirely natural. But it was something, it was nice, and Arthur tried not to be scared that it was all it was ever going to be. 

Arthur pulled his hands through his hair and indicated that Eames should do the same. It was sticking up at the back. Eames pulled a hand over his head, but only made it worse. 

They headed downstairs to the dining room. It was about half full and the murmur of voices hung softly in the air. The food really was amazing here. Arthur and Eames both had dessert and after that Arthur felt so full he could barely move. 

They sat in silence for a while. A walk or something might have been a good idea, but it was still raining, albeit not quite as heavily now. 

“We can continue to that town tomorrow,” Arthur said.

Eames nodded. He looked as if he was lost in thought or maybe looking at the people in the room, it was hard to tell which. That was something that was different about him, that stillness. Arthur didn't recognize it and he wondered what, aside from his reading habits, might be different about himself, what things that Eames might notice.

Later that night, when they were getting ready for bed, Arthur stripped down to his underwear and then he pulled them off too. He was probably only being silly anyway, keeping them on, and he didn't want things to remain awkward between them, so he had to stop being so damn awkward. He still felt self-conscious, though, which wasn't made easier by the fact that Eames didn't try to hide that he was looking. Eames removed all his clothes too, before he got into bed. 

“Is this an invitation?” he said. “I just don't want to misinterpret.”

“I don't know.” It was the honest answer. 

In the soft light from the bedside lamp Eames' eyes looked dark. Arthur couldn't define what he felt exactly, when Eames slid his hand up his side, his palm warm. Arthur put his hand on Eames' chest, pulled his fingers over the hair there and the new tattoos. 

It was like a film that had been double exposed. On one hand he was in bed with a very hot man, on the other hand that man was his husband. He couldn't quite get it straightened out in his head. Maybe it didn't matter. Eames was allowing him to touch him freely, all that warm skin available to his hands. 

Eames kissed him then. They kissed and they touched. A sense of urgency crept into their movements. 

“Are you clean?” Arthur asked.

“Yeah.”

They left it at that. Arthur didn't want to know what Eames might have done. Seven years was a long time. Arthur had mostly kept to his right hand, but he'd gotten lonely. If Eames were to ask, he would admit it, but Eames hadn't asked and he didn't now either.

Asking that health-related question put a bit of a chink in the mood, but Arthur wasn't going to allow himself to catch something for the sake of keeping up appearances. 

They were here now. Doing this. With each other. Eames' body was different than he remembered. Bigger. Stronger. 

Eames rolled on top of him and they rubbed against each other. Eames' cock was firm against his, his body a solid weight. 

“I don't have any lube,” Arthur said.

“I don't either.”

They probably wouldn't have gotten as far as that anyway. There was no finesse, just a single-minded focus to keep pressing tightly against each other, moving their hips. Arthur was being pushed into the mattress, but it felt good, the way Eames was thrusting against him, and he was going to come. 

He could hear his own panting breaths, and Eames' too. And then he did come, grimacing and wholly undignified, but that was sort of unavoidable. Eames slid a hand in between them, holding himself up on the other, and finished himself off before Arthur had a chance to do it for him. 

“I could have done that,” Arthur said.

Eames smiled a little. “You did.”

He sure came all over Arthur's stomach, at the very least. He dropped down onto the bed next to Arthur. 

The whole thing had happened very fast. They didn't last very long. As the aftermath of his orgasm subsided Arthur felt almost disappointed. Empty, in a way. It was sex, simple and straightforward, and that was perfectly okay, but now what? 

“Are you okay?” Eames said and Arthur hated him for asking that question. 

“I'm gonna clean up.” Arthur moved to get up, but Eames caught his wrist. 

“Hey,” he said and sat up too, but then he didn't seem to know what to say. 

Arthur pulled his arm free and went into the bathroom. Closed the door behind him. He stepped into the shower and stood there, thinking but unable to think at the same time. 

When he got back out to the room Eames was lying in bed, but not asleep by the look of it. Arthur got in under the cover. He felt as if there was a distance as wide as a continent between him and where Eames lay on the other half of the bed. 

“What did I do wrong?” Eames said eventually, breaking the silence.

“You didn't do anything wrong.”

“Then fuck you.”

Arthur was made speechless by that. Even after the shock wore off, he didn't know what to say, so he didn't say anything. Fuck you too, he thought.


	4. Chapter 4

Things were awkward between them, to say the least, as they went down to breakfast the next morning. It had stopped raining and the tablecloths in the dining room were creamy white in the soft sunlight that fell in through the windows. Arthur poured himself a cup of coffee and buttered a piece of toast. 

He used to smoke, picked it up his first year at university, but he quit a couple of years back. Eames used to smoke too. Arthur hadn't even realized that he didn't anymore, didn't think about it. He would have liked a cigarette then, he thought as he sat down by a table. 

How could it be that faking sex felt as if it brought them together, but doing it for real drove them apart? He could see Eames' hands, peeling an egg, in his peripheral vision. He had beautiful hands, very male, but not overly thick. 

They checked out after breakfast and got back in the car. Eames drove again. Arthur didn't mind. The silence was palpable, despite the whistling of the wind that filled his ears. 

Arthur wondered if it was the half-and-half admission that he'd slept with other people that had made Eames pissed off. Or the voiced suspicion, which could also be labeled accusation, that he thought Eames had slept with other people. 

A sign by the road proclaimed that there was a hill with a view up ahead to the right.

“Can you pull over?” Arthur said. 

Eames stopped the car by the side of the road.

“You wanna look at the view?” he said, his tone of voice slightly incredulous, which Arthur felt equaled condescension during the circumstances.

“I gotta piss.”

Arthur got out of the car. There was no view from here, just forest. He unzipped his pants and peed facing a large tree. Dom had told him when they were small that he knew a guy who had accidentally cut his own dick off with the zipper of his pants, and for years Arthur was petrified of doing the same thing, always taking extra special care to make sure that didn't happen. He felt really stupid when he got older and realized Dom had been lying, which, considering the end of the story, namely that the guy had to change his name to Edna and wear girl's clothes, should have been obvious. It was the kind of thing you preferred to forget you had ever been foolish enough to believe, but Arthur was fairly certain he had told Eames about it once. 

He heard the car door when Eames got out of the car as well. When he had zipped up and turned around Eames was standing just a short distance away. 

“We might as well look at the view,” Eames said. “Now that we're here.”

Arthur nodded. 

“I'm sorry,” he said then, “that I made things weird, yesterday.”

“You made me feel like I had assaulted you.”

“No! No. It was nice, you know...”

Arthur felt embarrassed, thinking about and talking about their clumsy, desperate act yesterday. 

Eames nodded a little. 

“To think that a bit of Oxford Style could cause such drama,” he said. 

It was an attempt at humor, Arthur caught that and smiled a little. “Yeah,” he said. 

“I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable, in any way.”

“No, you didn't. I just... freaked out a little, I think.”

Were they really standing here in the woods, discussing their sex life, or lack thereof? 

“Maybe I rushed things,” Eames said. 

“I'm not some delicate maiden.”

Eames smiled. “No, I know that.” His gaze felt heavy, tickling where it landed on Arthur. 

Another car pulled up behind theirs. Arthur cleared his throat. 

“Let's go look at the view.”

They arrived at the town they had set out to reach early that afternoon. The buildings lining the cobblestone streets were old and askew, painted a myriad of different colors. They found a bed and breakfast and put their bags in their room before they headed out again. Eames took Arthur's hand and it felt good, despite the disapproving looks from a bunch of older men that it earned them. 

“What do you want to do now?” Arthur asked as they strolled through the streets. “I don't mean right now, I mean, after this holiday.”

“You mean the-rest-of-my-life-now?”

“Yeah, or now, after the military. I mean, professionally.”

“I don't know.”

“You told me once that you wanted to be a writer.”

Eames smiled. “Yeah, well, I might also have told you I wanted to be a boxer, and a bar owner, and an explorer.”

Arthur smiled back at him. “Yeah.”

“I don't want to be a writer. I can't even spell.”

That was actually true, to a degree.

“I wanted to join the army. I did. Now I don't know. I might go work for my dad.”

“Really?”

The one thing he'd said he did not want to do was to work in the family business. There was a before and an after the war. Arthur could feel it. Everyone could. He thought then that maybe Eames felt it even more. 

“I haven't decided,” Eames said. “What do you want to do?”

“I'm not sure either.”

They stopped at a cafe and had a drink by a table on the sidewalk outside. A striped awning offered shade from the sun, but it was still warm. Eames shirt was unbuttoned almost halfway down his chest and Arthur found himself staring at that piece of revealed skin and chest-hair. Somehow it looked almost indecent and he felt a kind of heat rise inside of him, centered at his groin. 

Eames turned his head and smiled a little, seemingly unaware of Arthur's staring. 

“Maybe we should, um... make some purchases,” Arthur said. 

“Such as?”

Arthur picked a little at the napkin under his glass. “Lube?”

Eames raised his eyebrows a little. “Oh... Well, yeah, if you want to.”

“Better to be prepared.”

“Definitely.” 

They looked at each other. Eames smiled and looked almost abashed, but not really, for a moment.

** 

The hotel room was very, very warm. The sun had beat down on the roof all day and outside the windows the night air was still unusually hot. Being naked didn't help much. Lying close to another warm human being definitely didn't help. Skin soon got slippery with sweat. 

They went much slower this time, using hands and mouths to explore. Arthur glanced down when Eames took him in his mouth, because he had to see those truly amazing lips of his, and it felt fantastic. Warm and soft and firm, all at the same time. 

“You want me to do the same?” Arthur asked when Eames abandoned his cock and instead kissed his way up his stomach.

“Depends,” Eames replied. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yeah.”

The lube was on the bedside table, although they hadn't discussed if or what they were going to use it for. 

“In that case I think I want to make that last as long as possible,” Eames said. 

He had a great looking, red hard-on, pointing up towards his stomach from the bush of light brown hair at the base. Arthur had had his fingers wrapped around it earlier and felt the hot, smooth skin, and the dense weight of his balls in their soft skin, in his hand. But then Eames had pushed him onto his back and given him all of his attention.

Eames smiled at him and he smiled back. 

“Are you ready?” he said.

“What? No, I'm not ready.”

“I mean are you ready to be made ready?”

“Oh, okay. Yeah.”

Arthur was, even if he felt a little bit nervous too, and a little bit foolish perhaps, for that slight misunderstanding just now. 

Eames reached for the lube and warmed some of it in his hands, but then he didn't put his hand down between Arthur's ass cheeks right away, but instead he kissed the inside of Arthur's thigh. The pillowy touch of his lips contrasted with the light scratch of his stubble, and then a hint of tongue, even warmer, slick. It all went straight to Arthur's groin, like electric currents. He forgot to feel nervous and he remembered suddenly that this was what it had been like, only the man kneeling between his legs didn't look the same anymore, didn't feel the same. 

Arthur willed himself to relax when Eames pushed the first finger in. Eames didn't rush, but took his time before he added the second finger, then the third, working him open. Arthur was sweating, but then he had been even before. 

“Okay?” Eames asked.

“Yeah...” 

Eames touched his free hand to Arthur's knee. “You're amazing...”

Arthur wasn't sure what the praise was for, but he lapped it up anyway, feeling, as a matter of fact, pretty amazing.

He felt ready, anticipating, when Eames removed his hand and slicked up his cock, before he lined it up to push in. He went slowly, to be careful with Arthur or to drive Arthur insane. Either way, it had both effects. 

The look on Eames face was marvelous, all tightly wound pleasure. Arthur felt him slide in and out and reveled in the exquisite feeling of being filled up. Arthur touched him, his chest, his shoulders, his arms. He liked the feel of him, the hard muscles and this new, rougher definition of him. He gripped harder, digging his fingers in, but Eames didn't seem to mind.

Everyone who knew Arthur in any other capacity than lover, would probably be surprised by how much he enjoyed an activity that involved him and another person sweating on each other. God, what a stupid thing to think about. He slid his hands around to Eames' back and the top of his ass. 

Eames' breath was getting caught in his throat, then exhaled sharply, a soft moan escaping him now and then. Arthur stopped thinking, he just wanted Eames to never stop doing what he was doing right now. It. Felt. So. Good. 

He came, throwing his head back and moaning, distantly aware that Eames was probably watching him. Eames leaned down closer, his elbows on either side of Arthur, and like this they were face to face, so close that Arthur could feel Eames' breath against his lips as Eames moved inside him. Arthur met his gaze and there was an unguarded expression in his eyes, or maybe it was just lust, but he'd sought out that eye-contact regardless. Arthur watched him in return when he came, and felt the shudder that went through his body. 

Eames felt heavier on top of him afterwards, and having Eames' dick in his ass, albeit softening now, was starting to feel uncomfortable.

“Um... can you pull out now?”

Eames obliged, but didn't move far. Arthur put his arm around him. For a second they just breathed.

“Freaking out?” Eames asked, smiling a little.

“Nope.”

Arthur was a sticky mess and rubbing some of that off on Eames right now, but they both needed a shower anyway and Eames didn't protest. 

“That felt great,” Eames said. “You should have seen yourself, you were amazing.”

Arthur felt a bit embarrassed but also reassured hearing that. He was also pretty grateful he hadn't been able to see himself. 

He put his palm against Eames' taut stomach and dipped his fingers into the soft hair below it. 

“I think this holiday might be a lot of fun,” he said.

Eames laughed. “Yeah.” 

Arthur felt hopeful, for more than just the holiday. If the sex bit worked, maybe all the rest would follow? It wasn't so difficult to picture actually, falling in love with Eames, his husband, all over again.


End file.
